Sex, Drugs, and Murder
by Nixas
Summary: Reid knows he's a drug addict, but he can't seem to stop. He thinks he has his team fooled, but what will he do when a serial killer seems to be using Reid's supplier as a hunting ground? Worst of all, what will he do when he becomes the killer's next target? Warning: mentions of sex, drugs, and graphic violence.
1. Prologue

Prologue

He felt the smile melting off his face with each step he took away from the BAU. A cool breeze whispered through his bangs. He knew where he was going, though a part of him still tried to deny it. There was an itch, an absence of liquid tranquility in his veins. He counted each heartbeat as it raced through his carotid, and he felt the slick dampness where he had wiped his palms on his khakis. Even as he hastened his stride, he felt both ashamed and excited.

Spencer took great pleasure in the illicit world that Hankel had introduced him to. Though an FBI agent, he couldn't deny the filthy glamour that surrounded places such as the drug den toward which he was headed. A part of the goody-two-shoes genius he had grown up to be had, especially in his younger days, envied the freedom and fallen-angel beauty of drug addicts and criminals portrayed in the media. Make no mistake, he had first hand experience of the illusion of that freedom, how the drug was really his leash and collar. Yet he still found himself reverting to these cognitive fallacies as he knocked at the door of a supposedly 'abandoned' building.

The doorman knew him well, and granted entrance with no more than a grunt of acknowledgment. And Spencer actually enjoyed that, because for once it was nice to be 'normal', even if that normal was a tweaking addict. The reasons for this particular location were discretion and location. Much like the opium dens of old, here Spencer entered into a dimly lit room with assorted seating, most of which was actually in fairly good condition.

This was not the mattress lined warehouse that law enforcement so often encountered. Proper divans divided by screens offered a measure of privacy while still being able to be attended easily by individuals who both offered the drug and a measure of 'entertainment'. Spencer often compounded his shame by partaking of the prostitutes who offered their services.

Never once did he feel inadequate or awkward, and he allowed himself to appreciate the feeling of delicious depravity and release while the high lasted. Today he seated himself and signaled, money in hand, for his drug of choice. Long, delicate fingers took the cash from his hands, tucking it neatly away while the attendant provided the needle and vial. She looked at him with what he knew to be a practiced smile of seduction and promise. He profiled her even as he appreciated her ephemeral beauty. He blushed under those eyes, and so turned his attention to the drug. Rolling up his sleeves, he gratefully accepted the offered tourniquet and set about the business of preparing himself for the injection.

He leaned back, ready for the chemical rush to knock him off his feet. The attendant smiled knowingly at his steadying inhale. She reached for his belt, and he let it happen, still just as passive under the drug's influence as he was in everyday life. The physical pleasure of the flesh only enhanced the mental pleasure of not thinking. This is why he did this. It wasn't the barely coherent sex, or even the initial rush. If that was the case he would've picked something flashier like cocaine. No, this was about quieting his mind, and just letting himself experience the odd hallucinogenic effects. Everything slowed down,

down,

d o w n.


	2. Chapter 1

IMPORTANT NOTES ABOUT TIMELINE: so this is taking place sometime soon after the hankel business back in season 2, but i'm mostly ignoring gideon because I don't like him. Also yes morgan has a girlfriend but its not savanna

Chapter 1

Stumbling across the threshold, Spencer made it home in time to vomit into his kitchen sink. Nausea was one of the many unsavory side-effects of dilaudid that he put up with in order to have those handful of hours in which he felt free and more importantly, powerful. Normally he would have stayed at the den until both the high and the fall had mostly worn off, but he had work in the morning. His team...his team needed him - no - his team _expected_ him and weakling that he was, he didn't want to let them down. Thoughts flitted about his aching head, a whirlwind of guilt, disgust, and the last dregs of elation.

"What am I forgetting?" He whispered to the distorted image reflected on his stainless steel fridge. He could barely even remember why he had left the den in the first place. It was something more than his wavering sense of responsibility…something important.

 _A flash of steel...then red, red everywhere. Screams distorted by a chemical haze echoed in his head._

Spencer blinked rapidly, something terrible had happened at the den. There had been blood…

 _Her face twisted in pained surprise, then the blood began to gush down her front onto his lap._

He registered the blood on his hands, on his clothes, tasted it on his lips. Spencer gasped. The attendant was dead, her throat impaled clean through. This much he could remember, but there was more...so much more. He needed to call Hotch, but he couldn't. They couldn't know what he had been doing, why he had been there.

He didn't even know her name, fake or otherwise. Beautiful dark eyes filled his mind, and the feigned interest she had for him. Never once had she been disgusted with him though, that was why he always accepted her advances. The other prostitutes were either too far down their own paths of destruction or too disgusted with the den's clientele for Spencer to stand their touch.

"Hotch, I need to call Hotch," Spencer knew he was getting off-track, his thoughts sluggish and erratic, so he tried to center himself using the only anchor he had ever known.

Blood slick fingers fumbled for his phone, but it wasn't on his person. Brows crinkled in confusion, Spencer tried to remember where he had last placed it. The messenger bag had been tossed aside at the entrance in his haste to reach the sink. It had mercifully escaped the bloody deluge at the den, but crimson smears were still present from where it had rubbed against his body. He staggered toward it, hoping to find his phone when he suddenly froze.

How had he gotten here? Something in his still hazy memories screamed a warning at him. How had he not been picked up on the streets or bus covered in blood as he was?

Because he hadn't walked home.

Fear lanced through his body.

"H-hello?" He called out, hoping for silence.

"Hello Spencer. I see you've finally recovered your manners."

Morgan rolled out of bed, wondering what depravity he would have to face this time. He smiled at the sleeping face of his girlfriend. Callused fingers reached out to caress her cheek. She murmured a bit, but remained asleep. Morgan decided to write her a note then headed out.

At the BAU he went straight to the conference room, surprised that the resident curly-headed genius wasn't already there. Hotch, JJ, Emily, and Garcia were already there and he had passed Rossi on his way in.

"Hey, is Reid here yet?"

The others shook their heads.

"I was hoping you had heard from him, but I'm assuming that's a negative," Hotch said, his own expression mirroring Morgan's concern.

Morgan considered that Reid had been acting rather strangely recently, jumpier than usual, even uncharacteristically waspish at times. He had attributed it to the recent changes in his mother's condition, but he couldn't entirely shake the idea that something else was going on. He was shaken from his thoughts as Rossi joined them.

"If any of you hear from Reid let me know, otherwise we will continue and catch him up later," Hotch's stern voice brought the team's attention to the case files Garcia was passing around before she took her customary place up front.

"Right, so a lot of bad things happened at this abandoned warehouse earlier this morning just east of here near Richmond," an old, nondescript brick building filled the projector screen.

Garcia continued, "Six people were brutally murdered: Genevieve Howard, Torrance Smith, Avery Mumbasa, Lee Kim, Henry Brown, and Shawna Gentry," six faces took the place of the warehouse building on the screen.

"Do we know why they were in an abandoned warehouse at one in the morning?"

Garcia nodded, "We do. This building is apparently a sort of drug and sex venue. Somewhat high class as well. All of the people working there, of which Genevieve, Avery, and Lee were included, had previously worked at an escort service. We don't know a whole lot about the place, but customers were given a decent amount of privacy unusual for the drug business."

"So the other three were customers then?" Rossi asked.

"We're not yet entirely sure what their involvement was, but the position of the bodies suggests that."

"Avery was stabbed thirty-three times, predominantly in the abdomen, but also in the neck and thighs. It might suggest impotency or pent-up rage," JJ said.

"It might, but Genevieve has only the single stab wound through the throat. Both are African American, so the difference can't be accounted for by skin-color," Hotch countered.

"Or by sex, just as many men as women were killed, and Henry was just as savagely murdered as Avery," Emily elaborated.

"So the only thing the victims had in common was their choice of extracurricular activities. What makes this location so important to the unsub?" Rossi asked.

"That's what we need to find out, we'll be heading out in twenty," Hotch dismissed the team.

Morgan had hoped that Reid would have at least contacted the team by now, even just to say that he was going to be late. He caught up with Hotch as he left the conference room, following him to his office before bringing it up. Morgan opened his mouth to ask after the younger man, but Hotch beat him to it.

"I received a text from Reid during the meeting stating that he would sit this one out."

"Did he say why?" Puzzled, Morgan pushed further.

"No. He didn't apologize for his absence or give any indication why he wouldn't be available. In fact I find the bluntness rather odd."

"What do you mean?"

"The text doesn't seem like something Reid would write at all. It's missing any characteristics of apology or deference, which as you know are his typical traits. I granted his request, but I would like for you to check on him at his apartment before joining the rest of the team at the warehouse."

"You got it," Morgan grimly accepted. A large part of him felt that he wouldn't like whatever it was he found at Reid's apartment.


End file.
